


Eyes Wide Open

by Kayim



Category: Alphas, Warehouse 13
Genre: Character Death Fix, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-17
Updated: 2012-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 03:44:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/461858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayim/pseuds/Kayim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cameron hears the words, but he doesn't want to believe them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes Wide Open

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to Siluria.

Cameron never claims to be good at reading subtle signs like body language, but when Rachel walks into his office with her red eyes and her arms wrapped around herself, he knows it's bad.

There's a certain expression that people wear when they're carrying the worst possible news. He'd seen it before with the Marines, and he never wanted to see it again. Especially not here and not now.

"Who is it?" he asks.

Rachel's eyes widen and he knows she's wondering how he knows. But he doesn't want to explain how many times he's had to tell people their loved ones have been blown to pieces, or how many times he's seen his own squad mates discover that something has happened back home. It's like ripping off a band-aid – he wants it fast, not dragged out and lingering.

Her voice quivers as she speaks and for a second he thinks she's going to say it's Nina, or Gary, or Dr Rosen and he doesn't know how he'll react to that.

But the name isn't one he could have expected to hear, and yet it's the one that hurts the most.

*

He breaks every speed limit on the drive to the Warehouse from the airport, although at least now he feels somewhat more in control of the situation. When he was on the plane, all he could do was sit and wait for it to land, trying not to mentally calculate the myriad ways they could crash and burn. It's still slower going than he'd like, but he's the one making the decisions.

When he finally pulls up outside the Warehouse, he can't get out of the car. For all of his desperation to get there, he sits with his hands on the steering wheel, the engine still running, and just can't move. When he walks in there, it will be the first time that Steve won't be standing at the door to greet him. There won't be a hug and a smile, or an "I missed you". There won't be Steve.

And he's not sure he's ready to face that.

He remembers the last time he was here, throwing a ball around with Pete and Steve. He complained all the way through the game that there was no skill to throwing something as large as a football and that baseball was where the real talent lay. Pete had huffed and offered dozens of examples of what were, in his mind at least, momentous football throws, while Steve had just listened and laughed. 

When Pete had gone inside, leaving the two of them alone, Cameron had asked him what was so funny. The knowledge that Pete had lied about his disgust of baseball was something Cameron had filed away for future blackmail purposes.

He's got no idea how long he's been sitting there, recalling pointless memories while embarrassingly sappy music played on the radio, but a knocking on the window drags him back to the present.

Of course Claudia is the one to come and see him. He rolls down the window and she leans in, her hair draping over his arm. He notices a new streak of color in it and idly wonders if there's any rhyme or reason to the shades.

"I figured you'd come round," she says, as though he's just popped in from the Warehouse next door, not flown from New York to be there. "You can come in, you know. The Warehouse doesn't bite."

He raises an eyebrow and offers a hesitant smile. 

"Okay, so maybe it does bite. But it's more like a love nip," she concedes, pulling open the car door and holding out a hand to him.

Her hand seems small in his, but they both hold tight. Neither of them talk about the real reason he's here, as they navigate through the enhanced security systems she's built into the Warehouse. Cameron talks about Gary and Bill and Nina and Rachel, while Claudia tells him about the x-ray specs they picked up earlier that week that Myka has banned Pete from playing with. 

The others are out when they walk into the office, whether on a legitimate case or evacuated by Claudia, Cameron doesn't know, but he's grateful for the consideration nonetheless. The last thing he needs is more witnesses to his inevitable breakdown. He can feel it coming, feel the pressure building up inside him, feel his muscles tightening and his teeth clenching.

The only thing he doesn’t know is what form the breakdown will take. He's never been in quite this situation before. He's never lost a …. friend like Steve before.

"Whoa. You okay?" Claudia's voice is higher pitched than usual, she's scared and Cameron doesn't know why, until he realizes that he's sitting on the floor looking up at her.

At least he knows now how his body and brain are going to deal with things. They aren't. 

"You zoned out on me," she tells him, crouching down next to him and reaching for his hand. She's got her fingers over his pulse point and is likely to freak out about his heart-rate in a minute. He can tell how hard his heart is beating – he can feel every thud echoing through his chest – and wonders if he's actually going to have a heart attack.

"You're fine," she says and he thinks there must be a new definition to that word because what he's feeling right now is anything but fine. He drops his head down, unable to look at anything other than the floor. He doesn't want to see the look of pity on Claudia's face.

What he wants is to curl up on the floor, pull a blanket over his head, and tell himself that the last three days are nothing but a bad dream. He wants Claudia to grin and giggle and tell him it was a joke, a sick and twisted one, but a joke all the same. He wants Steve to walk in right now and say his name.

"Cameron."

He doesn't lift his head and look because there's no point. The voice is clear, exactly how he remembers it, but it can only be in his head and he doesn't want to allow himself the disappointment of hope. So he closes his eyes and thinks that maybe he can listen just a little bit longer before the auditory hallucination vanishes. 

"Cam open your eyes."

Claudia drops his hand and he can hear her footsteps as she walks away from him. He still doesn’t move his head, but he can sense that Claudia's left the room. He should be all alone now, but there's still a presence surrounding him. It's not real though. It's all in his screwed-up head.

He bites his lip and clenches his fists against his leg. 

"You're not real," he says through gritted teeth, despising the way it makes him sound so weak. He wishes he'd been strong enough not to answer – he finally understands what it must feel like to go crazy – but he can't help repeating himself. "You can't be real."

Despite his knowledge, when a hand settles on his shoulder, warm even through the thin cotton of his shirt, Cameron leans into it. He tilts his head to feel the imaginary fingers against his skin. "God, I wish you were here."

Calloused fingertips brush his cheek and only then does he realize that he's been crying. 

The voice is soft when it speaks again, and everything in Cameron's mind is telling him that there is someone in front of him. " Cameron. Please?"

It's the plea that breaks him. Cameron doesn't care if it's a vision, or a hallucination or a goddamn dream. He just wants to see Steve again.

He opens his eyes, locking onto the blue ones that are staring at him. Steve is crying, tears rolling down his cheeks, but he's there. 

Cameron doesn't ask how, or why. He wouldn't speak, even if he could. Every sense is telling him this is real, that Steve is real, but he still can't let himself believe it. 

Not until Steve smiles and Cameron knows, without a fraction of hesitation, that Steve is here, alive, with him.

He leans in, slowly, as though any sudden movement might cause Steve to vanish. The first kiss is barely more than a whisper, the salty taste of tears offering more proof of reality than anything else could. Cameron's hands know where they belong, and they slide home, pulling Steve towards him, holding him tight. 

"It really is you," Cameron says carefully. 

Steve smiles and it's beautiful. "Truth."


End file.
